


Ain't No Road Just Like It

by xahra99



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Knowhere (Marvel), Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:22:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xahra99/pseuds/xahra99
Summary: "Don' t see why you're so bothered. Not like he's your kid."Kraglin and Yondu argue over Quill, or, how Kraglin ends up with the Zune Yondu bought for Peter. Set between the first and second movies. Gen. Complete.





	Ain't No Road Just Like It

 

 

Kraglin was wondering if the liquid in his cup was genuine Celestial spinal fluid when the double doors swung open. He squinted at the reflection in the tarnished barroom mirror, grinning as he turned. “Any luck, Cap?”

Yondu’s only answer was an inarticulate growl. Kraglin wiggled one finger in his ear in case his translator was acting up. He turned back to the bar, grin fading. “Gimme another.” 

The Krylorian bartender lowered the glass she was polishing. “Another cup?”

Kraglin shook his head. “Another bottle.”

Yondu stomped across the bar and claimed the chair next to Kraglin’s. “Shoulda gone to Contraxia instead,” he complained, tossing the bag he was carrying to the floor and kicking it beneath his seat. “You’d think savin’ Nova’d make it easier to find work. Next time, those self-righteous jackasses can go an’ _save_ themselves.”

Kraglin would have sniggered if he hadn’t known how badly they needed units.  He was saved from answering by the bartender, who set the bottle and another cup down in front of Kraglin and retreated to the opposite end of the bar.  Kraglin pulled the cork, diplomatically refilling his captain’s glass before he poured himself a shot. The rotgut sloshing into his cup smelt acrid and unpleasant. The smell nearly drowned out the reek of rotting Celestial.

Yondu grimaced. “This ain’t cerebrospinal fluid.” He pinned the bartender with a red-eyed glare. “Hope you ain’t chargin’ my mate full price for this.”

The Krylorian, like most people on Knowhere, knew the Ravagers’ reputation. She shook her head vigorously, pink skin darkening to scarlet as she handed Kraglin a second bottle of the eye-searing moonshine that was the bar’s specialty. “On the house,” she said.

Kraglin raised his glass in a toast. Then he leant back in his chair and pointed at the plastic bag tucked beneath Yondu’s stool. “What you got there? Some new trinket?” He hoped so. New decorations always improved his captain’s mood.

Yondu reached down and caught the bag by its handle. He tossed the package to Kraglin with a flick of his wrist. “Take a look.”

Kraglin upended the bag unceremoniously. A small plastic rectangle dropped onto the counter. Kraglin picked the object up and turned it over in his hands. “What’s this?”

Yondu shrugged. “They call it a Zune. Fella told me it’s what everybody on Earth’s listening to nowadays.”

Kraglin regarded the Terran artefact doubtfully. “You sure?”  He flicked the black oblong with one red-gloved finger. The Zune made no sound. The closer Kraglin examined the rectangle, the more he found the tangle of wires attached to the slick black case resembled Peter’s old headphones. “How many songs?”

Yondu grinned, exposing stained silver canines. “Three hundred,” he said smugly.

Kraglin fought the urge to slam his head -his own or Yondu’s, either would do- into the counter. He settled for another drink instead. Didn’t Centaurians have eardrums like other species? With luck, Yondu would’ve forgotten all about the Zune by the time they caught up with Quill.

Yondu fell silent, seemingly concentrating on downing as much of the vile liquor as he possibly could. Kraglin twirled the music-maker’s wires around his fingers. He fidgeted in his chair, sliding red leather pants across worn bone, and glanced nervously around.

The _Myeloma_ was a dive bar, carved (counter, seats, and all) from Celestial vertebrae. The bar was old enough that every sharp edge had long since worn smooth. Dirt was ingrained in the cortex of the walls and ground into the well-worn concave pathway that led from the doorway to the counter. Dim lamps of burning fat illuminated the long, narrow room. The bar’s low ceiling gave the room a hot, close atmosphere that made Kraglin’s leathers itch. Sparks dripped from the roof and vanished through holes in the floor as Kraglin peered into the gloom.

Kraglin had seen a fair few bodies chucked into those holes. He was proud to say he’d even turfed a few in himself. Convenient corpse disposal was just one of the reasons this bar was one of Yondu’s favourites.

He turned back to the counter. It was still just the two of them. The pack of mercenaries and misanthropes that usually thronged the _Myeloma_ had gone to party someplace else that night. Most of the other customers looked as if they wanted to be somewhere else. A few folk gathered round a lizard-fight in one corner as a band tuned up in the other.

Kraglin took a second look just to be sure. Nobody else was close enough to hear what he was planning to say.

 _This is as good a time as any_ , he thought as he tilted the bottle and turned to Yondu. “So,” he said as the rank spirit sloshed into his cup. “When you gonna tell him?

Yondu tipped the liquor down his throat and poured himself another glass. “Tell who what?”

“When you gonna tell Quill ‘bout his daddy?”

“No need,” Yondu said firmly. “He ain’t never gonna find him.” He scratched the lattice of scars on his cheek and downed his next drink. “Thought we made sure of that.”

Kraglin shrugged. “Black’s a big place, but the Guardians are _famous_. There ain’t no way Quill’s daddy’s gonna miss hearin’ ‘bout him. The guy does get around.”

Yondu grunted. “Don’t worry ‘bout that jackass.”

Kraglin opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t at all concerned, that he didn’t give two units what happened to Peter, but Yondu continued. “Course I’m not gonna tell Quill. He’d only run over an’ get his fool ass captured.  Don’t exactly know what Ego’s got goin’ out there, but we never seen hide nor hair of those kids we delivered.”

“So, you ain’t gonna tell him?”

“Hell no,” Yondu said. “Kid’s gotta get over it some time.”

 Kraglin rested his elbows on the counter and twisted the wires around his fingers, until the plastic-coated headphones threatened to cut off the circulation in his hands. “I gotta ask. How you plannin’ on dealin’ with Quill?”

Yondu shrugged. “Probly never gonna see that boy again.”

Kraglin twisted the Zune’s wires into a cat’s cradle between his fingers. “You sure’ bout that?”

Yondu’s eyes narrowed. “What d’you mean?”

The wires wound round Kraglin’s hands went hopelessly awry. He debated lying to Yondu, but he’d never been good dissembling at the best of times. Besides, Yondu was scowling at him in a way that meant a whistle wouldn’t be too long in coming. “I know about the tracker,” he blurted.

Yondu leant back on his low barstool and folded his arms. Leather creaked. A red glow brightened beneath his overcoat. “What tracker?”

Kraglin shrank into his shallow seat, willing his jumpsuit to blend with the grimy white walls. “The tracker ya put onto Quill’s ship when those Nova fools rebuilt it.”

Yondu scowled. “Why’d I wanna track that idiot?”

Kraglin slipped the headphones from his hands. “You tell me, Cap.”

Yondu chewed that over for a while. Then he moved forwards fast enough to make Kraglin wince and swept Quill’s music-maker back into the plastic bag. “That’s between me and Quill,” he growled as he dropped the bag beneath his chair. “Understand?”

Kraglin nodded. “Sure, boss.” As the scarlet light faded he allowed himself to relax. “Only-

“Only _what_?” Yondu demanded. He sounded more irritated than truly angry, so Kraglin allowed himself to explain.  

“He cost us a lot of money, boss. Four billion units. An’ that’s not even including fuel, or the ships that got trashed in the Nova battle.”

“I know how much he cost us!”

Kraglin edged his chair one precisely calculated navigator’s inch away from both Yondu and the ragged-edged holes bored in the bar’s floor. “The crew want to know what you’re gonna do about him, sir.”

Yondu reached for the bottle. He tilted the flask deliberately and let the liquor inside trickle into the stained beaker inch by gradual inch, the silence broken only by the clink of bottle neck on cup rim. “Nothing,” he said at last.

“Nothing, boss?”

Yondu thumped his boots up on the bar. He drank from his glass, rolled the liquor around his mouth and smacked his lips. “We’re Ravagers. We got a code. Steal from everybody.”

“Except each other,” Kraglin corrected.

Yondu shrugged. “Code’s more of a guideline anyway. What else the crew sayin’?”

“This and that.” Kraglin picked at his scuffed leathers and sent a silent apology to Peter. If the boy was half as good as he thought he was, he could cope with anything the Ravagers threw at him and more. “They say there’s one sure-fire way to bring us units. Lots of folk gonna give good money for the Guardians of the Galaxy right now. That’s one fat pay-check right there.”

 Yondu snorted. “Lots of folk don’t know nothin’”

“That so?”

“No-one’s takin’ down the Guardians right now. Nova Corps’ll be all over ‘em. Remember Xandar?”

“Sure,” said Kraglin. “But-”

“Aw hell,” Yondu pulled a splinter from the bar and began to pick his teeth. “Don’t you worry. I’ll think of something.”

Kraglin leant his elbows on the bar and ran his hand across his mohawk. “All’ I’m sayin’ is, why negotiate for contracts when we could take th’ easy way out? Hand Quill in. If you want we could help ‘im escape after delivery. Hell, even get paid to hunt him down after. We’d score twice that way. Sentiment’s fine, but it don’t pay the bills.”

Yondu shook his head. “Not Quill,” he said.

Kraglin sighed.

He’d flown with Yondu a long time; two decades of dark star-speckled sky and darker deeds. Yondu had a reputation of not being the easiest of captains to work for, but he always paid well. Consequently, the crew they attracted-dockside scrapings, fugitives, and rejects from the more honourable Ravager clans-were all in it for the money.

Yondu would do-had done-anything for units. Except sell out Peter Quill. And if Yondu could find Quill any time he liked, it sure wasn’t fear of the Nova Corps that was stopping the bloodthirsty red-eyed bastard.

Kraglin wondered what _was_.

He knew why Yondu was struggling to find them work. The Ravagers’ more respectable customers didn’t want to piss off the Nova Corps, and the dishonourable ones didn’t want to annoy Thanos. Kraglin couldn’t blame them, but it put him in a bind. The Ravagers needed units for fuel and food. Shinies to keep the crew happy. Trinkets for Yondu’s dashboard. Like it or not, they needed work. And like it or not, the Guardians of the Galaxy were the Ravagers’ most lucrative targets within a thousand astronavigational klicks.   

“Quill’s not the only Guardian of the Galaxy,” he said. “We could pick one that Quill’s not gonna miss.”

Yondu didn’t spare him a glance. “No.”

Kraglin felt like a rat-lizard he’d seen nagging at a skink until the larger reptile swung round and bit its head off. “You want to know what the crew’s been sayin’” he said, drawing circles on the counter with the base of his cup. “Well, I’ll tell ya.”

A moment passed. Yondu’s brow ridges raised. “What?”

“They sayin’ you’ve gone soft.” The words tumbled out of Kraglin like a slug of liquor, slow at first, then faster. “They sayin’ we never shoulda took that boy in. Quill’s always been trouble, an’-“

Yondu flicked his coat back. The yaka arrow smoked scarlet at his hip.

The bartender ducked beneath the counter as Kraglin dropped his cup. Liquor spilled across the bar, smoking gently. “Not me!” he yelped! “I ain’t sayin’ so! I know you got no problem killin’ people!”

Yondu pursed his lips. One silver-capped canine gleamed in the lamplight. “Keep talkin’”

Kraglin scrambled for words. “The crew hungry, that’s all! Hungry and stupid! They see you bein’ captain, think it’s easy! They see Quill disrespecting you, see him stealin’ the stone an’ givin’ it to Nova, an’ they think that means you’re weak!”

He winced, expecting to be skewered at any moment, but Yondu just rolled his eyes and let his coat fall back over his arrow. “Quill ain’t weak.” he said. “Boy’s got a conscience, that’s all.” He sighed. “I shoulda beat it out of him when I had the chance. Shoulda killed him myself. Bit late for that, now.”

“Yeah.” Kraglin agreed. He reached over and righted his cup, using his sleeve to mop the spilled liquor from the bar. “Crew aren’t happy, though.”

 “They’re crew,” Yondu said. “S’not their job to be happy. S’their job to do what I tell them.”

“But what if-“

“I’ll deal with it.”

“Sir.” Kraglin refilled both their cups. “You ain’t taking this seriously.” 

“I’ll take it seriously,” Yondu grated, “once it gets serious.”

Kraglin abandoned his attempts to make Yondu see some sense. He tipped his glass and poured more liquor down his throat. The alcohol did nothing to make him forget his problems.

It wasn’t the first time the crew had doubted Yondu. Ravager rebellions tended to be short-lived, with a lot of cleaning up afterwards. Kraglin hated the cleaning nearly as much as he hated the crew complaining to him ‘cause they didn’t dare criticise the captain to his face. That was just the way it went. It wasn’t the first time Kraglin had had a quiet word.

It _was_ the first time Yondu had refused to even listen.   

 “You sure you’re set upon this course?” he asked.

Yondu took a slow swallow of spirit. “Damn right.”

“Ain’t nothing I can do to convince you otherwise.”

“Nope.”

Kraglin sighed. “Then screw it,” he said. “Let’s have another drink.”

Silence fell, or what passed for it in Nowhere. The sound of hammering radiated through the walls. Clicks and hisses drifted over from the lizard-fighting ring. The band in the corner tuned their instruments and began to play, though Kraglin didn’t think the tuning had helped much.

Kraglin drummed his fingers on the table in time to the music. For years, Kraglin had watched Yondu and Quill wrangle. The boy bitched and moaned, but he always came back. Kraglin figured it was past time for the boy to fly on his own wings. Hell, Kraglin’d been a Ravager since he was half of Quill’s age.

He added up the years on his fingers, tallying the years he’d been aboard. There’s were more than he expected. Kraglin knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Hell, he was hardly more than a kid himself the day they picked Quill up. “Ain’t none of us twenty anymore,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothin.’”

Yondu had tolerated Peter’s terrible music, hare-brained schemes, and ill-advised conquests for _years_. As the captain’s tolerance levels were notoriously low, the only way any of it made sense to Kraglin was if Yondu had been grooming Peter as his heir. According to the Code, the Ravagers were a strict meritocracy-anyone strong enough to hold the captaincy could take it-but a well-liked captain had a lot of freedom, and Yondu had always treated the Code more like guidelines anyway.

Kraglin took a glance at Yondu, gauging his captain’s temper like a shotgun. He decided to test his new-found theory. “Sir?”

Yondu shot Kraglin a sidelong glance. “I ain’t talking about Quill,” he rasped.

“Right you are.”

“Next time I see that boy, I swear I’ll kill him.”

Kraglin reached for the bottle. “As you say, Cap.” He doubted that Yondu would carry through his threat. Either Quill would pull some crazy plan from the seat of his pants or Yondu would find some reason not to see things through.

“Damn right,” Yondu confirmed.

Their conversation paused for a while as they drank.

“Boss?”

“What?”

“What’d you think Peter’ll do now? Ain’t like galaxy-savin’s a full-time job.”

Yondu stifled a belch. “Damned if I care.”

“You think he’ll join the Nova Corps? Easy enough, and like you say, Quill’s got a conscience.” Kraglin yawned, wide enough to crack his jaw. “Maybe he’ll even go straight.”

Yondu’s eyes narrowed. He surged up from the bar like a solar flare. Head down, fists, clenched.  “Ain’t no boy of mine ever gonna go straight! I brought him up to do his worst, jus’ like a Ravager should. He ain’t some stuck-up law-abiding Nova copper!”  

“Calm down,” Kraglin reached for the bottle smugly. “Don’t see why you’re so bothered. Not like he’s your kid.”

“Quill ain’t my kid!”

“That’s what you say. But we all know it ain’t what you mean-“

Yondu whistled.

Kraglin froze with his right hand still extended towards his cup. The only part of his body he dared move was his eyes. The yaka arrow’s radiation burned the back of his ears. In the tarnished glass behind the bar, Kraglin saw a red halo circling his head. The arrow singed his hair, a tiny pinprick of pain, promising more. He swallowed, hard.

“Quill ain’t my kid,” Yondu repeated.

Kraglin met Yondu’s glare in the glass behind the bar. “If you say so,” he croaked through suddenly dry lips.

Yondu kicked his chair back hard enough to gouge bone and stalked out of the bar, taking his arrow with him. Kraglin waited until he was sure Yondu had gone. Then he pulled the bottle towards him and finished off the remains of Yondu’s shot.

Kraglin drank until the bar closed. He was just getting into it by the time the Krylorian bartender threw him out and chucked Quill’s trinket after him. Gates of bone slammed shut behind Kraglin as he staggered back to the _Eclector_.

He came in through the back hatch and stumbled up the access stairs. The corridors were quieter than normal-no surprise, considering half the crew was still on shore-leave. Kraglin pinged the bell to the captain’s quarters. When no answer came, he pressed his palm against the door. The door slid open. There was no sign of Yondu.

Kraglin balled Quill’s Zune up in its plastic bag, wrapping the headphones around the whole bundle to keep it closed. He stowed the parcel away in Yondu’s drawer, the special one with the Ravager flame embossed across the handle. With luck, Yondu’d find it by the time they caught up with Quill, if the crew hadn’t mutinied first.

Kraglin tried his best not to worry, and the booze he’d consumed helped. He told himself that Quill was the captain’s decision. Yondu’d said his piece, and Kraglin trusted him to take care of himself. If he didn’t, then there wasn’t any point in Kraglin being first mate, was there? But he knew the crew were restless, and although they were often restless, there were a few that might be thinking they were better than Yondu. 

With the small part of his brain that wasn’t rapidly pickling, Kraglin promised himself he’d try and speak to Yondu later. He’d get around to it eventually.

He never got the chance.

  

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title of course, from Lake Shore Drive by Alietta Haynes Jeremiah.  
> Disclaimer-I'm just about old enough to remeber Walkmans the first time around, and I live in a country that although it has a South, is a very long way from wherever the hell the accent that is that the Ravagers speak (my personal favourite theory is that Peter's translator-whatever is advanced enough to translate accents into the native language, and since he's from the American South, the Ravagers sound like space rednecks). Whatever it is, it's really hard to write.  
> I do hope you enjoyed the fic! If you got this far, how about leaving a comment, or check out my other organic, hand-crafted fics?  
> Edited 27/05/17 to fix tags and ratings


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